


Reunions

by RosYourBoat



Series: Oak Harbor [2]
Category: Castaways Series - Brian Jacques, The Castaways of the Flying Dutchman
Genre: Gen, M/M, Mystery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-24
Updated: 2015-08-24
Packaged: 2018-04-17 02:35:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4648986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RosYourBoat/pseuds/RosYourBoat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ten years and a continent away from the events of "To Receive What Has Been Given," the Angel fulfills its promise, and Ben and Ned start a new adventure with their family.</p><p>This fic is unfinished, and will remain so.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reunions

**Author's Note:**

> Part of my recent excavation and expunction of all of my old fics from my hard drive to an online form, where they can be held as an indelible and inescapable memento of my past obsessions. These fics are all unbeta'd and heretofore unseen by anyone but me. I hope someone else feels some of the enjoyment I received from writing them.
> 
> "Reunions" was written in November of 2008, and is unfinished.

July 2, 1991

The picture, framed in dark wood and mounted on the wall of a hallway, depicted a slender towheaded teen of indeterminate age leaning against the hull of a small wood skiff beached on the shore of a glistening lake. Even trapped behind glass, the boy’s strange blue eyes pierced the soul of the observer; he was ageless, wise and yet as powerful as the storm-tossed seas. A man stood in front of the picture and traced the edge with a long finger, contemplative and wistful. He closed his eyes and smiled ruefully when a pair of strong arms wrapped around his chest from behind and pressed him close to a lean body.

“Again, love?” The man whispered into his lover’s ear, pressing a kiss to his temple. “This is the fourth time this week I’ve caught you like this.”

“I know, Hunter, I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I just can’t help wondering if we’ll ever see him again.”

“You know that we will. He said that he would see us again, Justin. Is there a reason for this sudden doubt?”

The man in his arms sighed, tracing the picture again. “It’s been nine years. For all we know, we could be old men on our deathbeds before we see him again. It’s cruel to keep us waiting like this.”

“We’ll see him when we see him,” Hunter said patiently, as if he had said it countless times before. “It would be a blessing to even see him again for a brief second, you know that.”

“I know, but for some reason he’s been on my mind more often than usual lately. I have a strange feeling…” he trailed off. His lover turned him around and pressed a soft kiss to Justin’s lips, deepening it until the man in his arms moaned. He broke away, his eyes intense.

“Try not to think about it too much,” he suggested with a devilish grin, “there are much better things we can be doing with our time before we have to leave.”

“Oh? Like what?” Justin asked breathlessly.

“Let’s find out, you tease,” Hunter growled, taking his lover’s hand and leading them away from the enigmatic photo that was filled with painful memories and unanswered questions.

* * *

 

June 2, 1991

The tall, thin man in a crisp black suit sat stiffly in the train compartment, his dark black eyes fixed determinedly on the folded newspaper in his hands. Occasionally, however, his eyes flicked over the wrinkled paper to the occupants of the seat across from him and his thin eyebrows lowered until they reached a dangerous severity of steepness. His left eyes twitched.

Shaking out his paper roughly, he coughed, sniffed pointedly, and resumed his one-way staring contest with the article entitled “Rumors of Treasure Blaze Through Europe.” Barely a minute passed before his eyes drifted up and darted over the newspaper. His eyebrows snapped together over an aquiline nose with the alacrity of an eagle swooping down on its prey.

“Pardon me, young man, but your… pet seems to have the mistaken impression that I am a source of some fascination. I would be obliged if you would distract his attention, for I assure you that I have no intention of pandering to him like that fool of a ticketman who let him in here to sit on the seats like a civilized animal.”

The other two occupants of the compartment, a young towheaded boy and his dark brown Labrador, turned their attention to him. Or rather, the boy raised his head from his book and the dog simply blinked.

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry, sir, he’s completely tame and very friendly. In fact, you should be flattered; he only fixes his attention like that on people he finds interesting and unique. Otherwise he would have fallen asleep long ago.” The boy flashed a disarming grin.

“The honor I feel is overwhelming, I don’t know if I can stand it much longer.” The man gritted out between clenched teeth, glowering at the dog in question. The animal barely blinked, unrepentant, and continued to stare.

“Perhaps if he found out a little more about you he would lose interest,” the teen suggested. The other passenger transferred his suspicious gaze to the boy, whose strange, clouded blue eyes returned it innocently.

“Right then, I suppose I’d better start telling him my life story before he keels over from curiosity and sleep deprivation.” The man said sarcastically. Surprisingly, the boy laughed outright, nudging the dog on the faded red seat beside him as if sharing a joke.

“No need to do that, sir, I would most likely die from sleep deprivation before this one does. He sleeps enough for three men on any given day.”

“No doubt.”

“My name is Ben, sir, and this great old lump is Ned. What is your name?”

“I am Doctor Adrian Quinton.” The man replied in a clipped tone. Undaunted, the boy pressed on.

“A doctor, you say? Of what?”

“I have doctorate degrees in both world history and archaeology.”

“And you’re from England? The Manchester area as opposed to the London proper, I would guess.”

Doctor Adrian Quinton raised a slender eyebrow. “You would guess correctly, unlike many foreigners. You are… perhaps from Dutch or German descent? Your accent is quite muddled.”

The boy laughed. “I’ve no doubt that it is; I’m surprised you even got that much, to be honest. Yes, Ned and I are both originally from Denmark but we’ve traveled around the world quite a bit because my father was in the military service.”

“Oh? Very fascinating, I’m sure.”

“Actually, it _was_ fascinating for the short time I experienced it. My parents didn’t think it was healthy for me to be moving around so often, so they decided to send me away to a boarding school in England five years ago. I only saw them during the summer after that.” Ben paused, looking surprised for a split second. “Ah… Doctor, you’re a sly one. You’ve got me talking about myself for so long that poor Ned’s fallen asleep from boredom.”

“They do say that there is more than one way to skin a cat,” the man murmured, leaning back in his seat and crossing his legs with a smirk. Ben chuckled, his eyes alight with mirth.

“Indeed they do. You know, I think I like you already.”

“Again, the honor overwhelms me.”

“You have a very dry wit, Doctor.”

“And you have an impertinent mouth. I don’t suppose you need to get back to your book?”

Ben shrugged. “Not really. After the fourth or fifth time, Odysseus’ journey back to Ithaca actually becomes rather boring and repetitive.”

“You are a strange child. Somehow, between your global traveling, boarding education, and puberty you’ve managed to find the time to become a critic of classical Greek literature. An impressive feat, considering I can’t even finish a five hundred word article on a four-hour train ride without being interrupted.”

“If I had my druthers, sir, I wouldn’t even be reading _The Odyssey_ right now but as it is I have limited options.”

“If we switched reading materials, I don’t suppose I could actually have some peace and quiet, could I?”

“Depending on today’s news, you might.” Ben replied flippantly with a crooked grin. The doctor’s thin lips actually quirked upward for a split second at that before they fell back into a scowl and he thrust the abused newspaper at the other passenger. Once Ben handed over an equally battered copy of _The Odyssey_ , an easy silence fell across the compartment.

Over an hour later, Doctor Quinton emerged from his reading to see that the teen across from him had slumped against the equally slumberous dog, the newspaper trapped under a limp arm. With a silent sigh and a roll of the eyes, he checked his watch. Black eyebrows lowered once more when he saw how much time had passed. Lifting his foot, he nudged the towheaded boy with the tip of an immaculately shined, Italian leather boot. Instantly, Ben stiffened and sat up, his eyes alert and cautious, and the dog seemed to mirror his movements. Once he recognized his surroundings, however, the boy relaxed and rubbed a hand across his eyes.

“Good morning, Doctor. What’s up?”

“’What’s up’ is that it’s just past three o’clock. The next stop is coming soon; I didn’t know when you needed to disembark.” The boy rummaged in his pocket and pulled out a rumpled ticket.

“Um, it looks like I get off at the Termini station in two hours. What about you?”

The older man’s eyes narrowed in suspicion once more at the teen. “By some strange twist of fate, I am also getting off at Termini. God seems to have chosen to make this day difficult for me.”

“I wouldn’t say that, sir. You never know just what God has in store for you until it happens.”

“And what do you suppose God has in store for you in Italy? I suppose you’re meeting your parents at the station?”

“My parents died in a car accident over two years ago. I spend my summers with my aunt and uncle now. I’m meeting them at their house.” Doctor Quinton stared hard into his mysterious blue eyes but didn’t reply. Ben and his companion excused themselves and left the compartment for fresh air. Absently, Quinton stared down at the tattered book in his hands and flipped through the worn pages. Coming to the back of the book, he was startled to find a picture placed between the pages, seemingly forgotten. He slipped it out, handling it with cautious fingers when he saw that it was ragged and faded nearly to the point of obscurity. Carefully tilting it toward the light from the window, he slipped his reading glasses on and peered down at the picture.

It appeared to be a large group of people dressed in costume as if for Halloween; an older couple stood off to the side with a younger couple watching the children in the center of the picture posing for the camera. He spotted Ben as one of the two teens in the picture roughhousing with two young children. To his surprise, Quinton saw two men holding each other in what was clearly a loving embrace on the other side of the picture, watching Ben with expressions of pride and happiness. The joy and love shared between the photo’s occupants was clear.

Was this the family Ben had talked about? His parents or maybe his aunt and uncle? Probably his parents, since the child was wearing far more presentable clothing in the photo than he was wearing now. After all, what kind of parents sent their child to an exclusive boarding school looking like a starving waif living on the briny docks? Something told him that the relatives the teen had been sent to live with were not as financially flush as his parents had been. Flipping over the picture, he furrowed his brow when he saw that the date imprinted by the camera had been scratched out with a black marker. It appeared to be a very recent picture, judging by Ben’s appearance, and yet the condition of the picture itself indicated otherwise.

Quinton returned the picture to its place with a contemplative frown, removed his glasses, and stared out the window at the Italian countryside rushing past. He was not a particularly religious man, but at that moment he felt as if something larger than himself was directing his path to coincide with that of this mysterious child. If that was so, then he would waste no time in finding out why.

* * *

The press of people was suffocating. Everywhere Ben looked, he saw overweight tourists from America with their luggage trundling obediently behind them; he saw French bohemians arguing with expressive gestures; he saw businessmen from every country speeding impatiently to and fro with tightly-pressed lips and anxious eyes. The noise was overwhelming after the quiet train ride and Ned was constantly shaking his head and grumbling to himself through their connection. Ben sympathized with his overly-sensitive ears and rubbed his ruff comfortingly.

“ _Don’t worry, old pal, we’ll be out of here soon enough.”_

“ _I don’t remember Italy being this crowded the last time we were here,”_ Ned replied with a growl at a foot that strayed too close to his paws. The person quickly jumped away.

“ _That’s because the last time we were here was in 1945 and before that it was 1908. Nothing was this crowded back then.”_ Ben said with a faint grin, but Ned caught the worry lurking in his companion’s mind.

“ _Hmph, well it’s never stopped us before. At least old Bristlebritches over there looks about as unhappy as we are. Boy, if looks could kill, eh?”_ He chortled, indicating their erstwhile traveling companion with a tilt of his head. And indeed, Quinton appeared to have a scowl etched permanently onto his face as he stalked relentlessly through the crowd to the entrance of the station. People seemed to melt from before him like water flowing around an enormous boulder and Ben and Ned happily followed in his wake.

“ _Aye, the good Doctor looks as though he’ll rip the throat out of the next unfortunate fellow that tries to swindle him.”_ Ben chuckled. Their progress was abruptly halted by the congestion at the door and Quinton whirled on him with a snarl.

“I’m glad you’re having so much fun traipsing through this veritable hellhole of human filth and disease. By the by, _why_ exactly _are_ you traipsing after me when you clearly have your own agenda?”

“I’m just following you out, Doctor. Don’t worry, once we get out you won’t see me again.”

“Forgive me if I don’t believe you,” Quinton sneered.

“You’re forgiven, of course,” Ben replied flippantly. “By the way… I don’t suppose you speak Italian, do you?”

Quinton groaned, rubbing his temple with his fingers. “Why? Don’t tell me that you’ve come all the way to Italy for the summer without learning even a pinch of the language?” Ben shrugged with an apologetic smile. In reality, he spoke Italian fluently, albeit it was slightly archaic due to the fact that it had been nearly half a century since he had been here.

The older man grumbled to himself about impulsive children until they finally reached the outside of the station. It was just as crowded here as it was inside; the only difference being that the air was now filled with honking traffic, car exhaust, and cigarette smoke in addition to the normal cacophony. Ben kept a sharp eye out—Termini was known for preying on foreigners through pickpockets or simple swindlers—and sure enough he saw that they were being followed by a shifty-looking man in an ill-fitting business suit.

“I suppose we will have to share a cab until we reach my hotel. At that point we can separate.” Quinton was saying as he approached an eager taxi driver. Ben purposefully slowed, nonchalantly placing his hands in his pockets as if he was waiting for the older man to complete his negotiations. The pickpocket quickly bypassed Ben and headed for Quinton, bumping into the older man slightly and bowing his head in apology as he kept walking. Ben hurried forward, watching the man slip whatever he had gotten into his back pocket.

It took less than thirty seconds. Nodding his head slightly at Ned, Ben strolled forward casually and the dog soon followed, barking excitedly as he streaked in front of the pickpocket. Ben angled his path directly behind the pickpocket and, as the thief was distracted by Ned, his hand flashed out and deftly removed the item from his back pocket. Ben continued ambling onward, arching around to meet up with his companion and laughing when Ned jumped up to lick his face.

“ _A little rusty there, aren’t you, pal? You nearly ran into that thief,”_ Ned teased and Ben tweaked his ear.

“ _As if you were any better, O Ancient One. You’re sounding a bit out of breath for such a short jog.”_

“Boy! Unless you’d rather walk to Rome, you’d best get over here.” Quinton shouted, looking even less pleased than he had in the station, if that was possible. Ben and Ned hurried to his side and they climbed into the waiting car.

“You should be grateful,” the older man said, “I nearly had to threaten the man to let him take a dog in his precious rust bucket. As it is, I fully expect you to reimburse half of the outrageous fee—” He cut himself off abruptly when Ben held out the slim, travel-sized notebook he had taken from the pickpocket. Quinton snatched the booklet from him, a dangerously stony expression on his face as he flipped through it quickly. After assuring its good condition, he looked up, his black eyes flashing with anger.

“Where did you get this?” he hissed.

“If you have something valuable, you should either hide it better or watch more carefully for pickpockets. I swiped this off of the man who bumped into you back at the station.” Quinton stared into Ben’s eyes hard, as if trying to read his soul, before he finally looked away with a sharp nod.

“I apologize,” he said stiffly.

“No problem,” Ben replied cheerfully. They sat in silence for a long moment.

“And where, pray tell, did you learn how pickpocket a pickpocket so effectively? Are English boarding schools so cutthroat these days?”

“You would be surprised,” Ben chuckled. “Actually, it was something my father taught me. He always wanted me to be prepared for anything that could happen. Military man and all of that.” Quinton made a noncommittal sound and the rest of the trip passed in near silence.

“ _Quite an interesting fellow, our Doctor, eh?”_ Ben commented.

“ _Aye, I wonder why our angel led us to this sourpuss. He wouldn’t accept our help even if he ever admitted to needing it!”_

“ _You never know, old pal. The Lord works in mysterious ways. Hard hearts are often softened when the right time comes.”_

“ _You’re right, Ben, but I sure hope the good Lord softens his heart sooner than later! What d’you suppose was in that little book? Doc near had a heart attack when he saw you had it.”_

Ben reached over and scratched Ned’s ears thoughtfully. _“I don’t know, but whatever it is, it’s important. I have a feeling it could be something that we could help the Doctor with.”_ The Labrador perked up and wagged his tail.

“ _Oh good! It’s been such a long time since we’ve had a good mystery. This is shaping up to be a pretty good trip after all!”_

* * *

“ _What a terrible trip. What are we doing here again?”_ Ned grumbled as he crouched in a shallow doorway to avoid the pouring rain.

“ _We’re here to help the Doc, remember?”_

“ _But we haven’t even_ seen _him in over a week!”_ The dog whined. _“You’ve had to get a job as a smelly fishmonger and we sleep under a roof that’s nearly as old and moldy as you are!”_

Ben grunted as he hauled up a net full of dead fish and dropped it onto a table. He wiped his bloody knife on a cloth and wiped his forehead with his forearm to remove the rainwater that was dripping from the tattered cloth awning above his rickety table. He efficiently began gutting each fish, dropping the entrails into a bucket, and packing the clean fish into a crate. _“Stop complaining, Ned, you know we’ve lived in worse places. Kuwait, 1796, remember?”_ Ned shuddered.

“ _Aye, a month in a filthy Arabian prison in the depths of winter with naught but moldy bread to eat and stale water to drink. We’ve not been in much worse situations than that.”_

“ _Right, so count your blessings. This generous fisherman has let us sleep on his courtyard porch in exchange for a little work; we can hardly complain about that after sleeping out in the forest so many times.”_

“ _Everything was so different a century ago; people were much more generous to a suffering traveler. Now they’re all afraid and suspicious.”_

“ _He has a right to be—he has two teenage daughters and no sons at home, Ned!”_

“ _So? It’s not like_ you’re _any danger to_ them _. You could’ve told the man you were homosexual or in love with a gypsy girl who died three centuries ago.”_

Ben threw his hands up in frustration, heedless of the bits of fish that were flung behind him. “Ugh! I can’t talk to you when you’re like this! Talk to me when you’re rational again.” He said out loud. He only received a dismissive huff in reply.

With a grunt of his own, he finished gutting the fish with more violent slashes of his knife. He didn’t realize that he was shivering from the cold until after the fish had been cleaned and the materials packed away. With a sigh, he cleaned his knife and the table and walked to the large barrel that stood just under the gutter at the roof of the brick house. He quickly washed his hands in the freezing water and ducked under the poor shelter of the porch to change his shirt and cover himself in his thick travel cloak.

By this time, it was nearly seven o’clock in the morning and the sky was quickly brightening into another day—the eighth day since they had arrived in Termini station and said goodbye to Doctor Adrian Quinton in the heart of Rome four or five blocks north. Once he felt slightly warmer, Ben walked through the small gate that separated the tiny courtyard in the back of the house to the street front.

Sure enough, he found Ned lounging under the shelter of a covered doorstep watching the steady stream of people who had started their day over an hour ago. It was where he sat every morning. The towheaded boy sat next to his companion and set a hand on his ruff silently. Understanding and apologies passed between them without a word. They didn’t need excuses anymore.

Ben and Ned didn’t fight often even though they often had different opinions. They knew each other too well and loved each other too much to fight over petty things. But whenever they did feel frustrated or felt they needed to be alone, they understood the need and left the other alone. They never stayed away from each other long. Even after nine years, the forced silence between the two of them still haunted their dreams. They didn’t talk about it, but the effects of those horrible months were still felt deeply. The fear that it could happen again never truly left their thoughts. They wouldn’t stay away from each other for very long. They couldn’t.

 _“I’m sure we’ll see him again soon. He needs our help even if he doesn’t know it yet.”_ Ben said after a long silence.

_“Yeah.”_

They sat in silence for a while longer before the fisherman shouted at him to start preparing the fresh fish for sale. For much of the morning, he washed and salted and cooked and tied up the fish for the temperamental man until finally, smelling strongly of fish as he had for the past five days, he was finally given time for lunch. Relieved, he washed his hands in the rain barrel and wandered to the street to find Ned sunning against a light pole. With a groan, Ben sat next to him and watched the foot traffic go by lazily.

“Ah ha! There is my good friend _anziano_!” A boisterous voice called out in Italian from across the street and Ben looked up with a grin and a wave. “Come, come, _anziano_! I have something for you to do.”

Ben stood and loped across the narrow market street, followed by a grinning Ned. Once he arrived at the door of the tiny bakery across from the fisherman’s store, he was immediately seized by fleshy arms and pressed against a generous bosom that smelled of marzipan and flour. This was Viviana, the strident wife of the equally outspoken Giuseppe Russo who ran the bakery while Viviana tended to their children. They had been amused by his archaic Italian—thus earning him the nickname “ _anziano_ ” or “old man”—and they took to him and Ned almost immediately.

 _“Ah, but your help would be greatly appreciated,_ anziano _, if only we had the room or money to keep you,”_ Viviana had said regretfully once she heard that he was looking for shelter. _“But if you do find a place to stay, you can count on us for a little food in exchange for a little work, eh?”_ She winked.

Now, she ushered him past the sales counter and through the door that led to the kitchen and living area of the small family. Their ten-year old son Raul and their seven-year old daughter Filippa were at school and their three-year old son Pepe was currently mashing a slice of bread into his porridge at the table. Viviana tutted chidingly at him and wiped his fist with a towel.

“Tsk, my child, why do you do this? You enjoy being so messy, eh? _Anziano_ , come, sit. Eat some porridge and a baguette while you listen. Yes, even Ned, too, he can have some bread. Now, I would like for you to go down to Roma Centro and buy me a large bag of flour; five or six kilograms, yes? You understand kilograms?” Ben nodded. “Good. Then, I need you to go to _Il Chef de Casa_ and buy me a rolling pin. You see this one, yes? This was my best pin and Pepe here broke it two days ago. Take this with you and buy one exactly like it. Okay?”

Ben nodded, hastily eating the rest of his porridge and taking the rest of the baguette with him. “Yes, Signora Russo. I’ll be back before two o’clock.”

“ _Ciao, anziano!”_

“ _Ciao!”_

With a bark of farewell, Ned bounded out the door after his companion. Ben dropped by to let the fishmonger know that he would be gone before he walked out into the crowded Italian street. The day was sunny and warm and almost unbearably humid, which was the only familiar thing Ben had found eight days ago when he first arrived. Fifty years had given Rome a new face and it had taken a map and a lot of questions before he could make his way around confidently. However, even Ned had to admit that the bustling city was beautiful despite its fast-paced crowds and streets.

It didn’t take long for him to gather the items Signora Russo needed and so it was with the bag of flour slung across his shoulder and the rolling pins in his canvas satchel that Ben started making his way back to the small bakery shop. It took nearly half an hour to walk from central Rome to the more dilapidated area of town that Ben now lived and worked, but not ten minutes into the walk, Ned suddenly stopped dead in his tracks.

“ _Ned?”_

The dog took deep breaths and twisted his head from side to side as if trying to follow a tennis match. _“It’s the Doc, Ben. I can smell him.”_

“ _What?”_ Ben quickly turned and looked around as well, trying to see over the heads of the foot traffic. He couldn’t see the distinctive shape of the disgruntled doctor anywhere. Ned suddenly barked and plunged off in a direction west of the path they had been traveling.

“ _This way, Ben! Come on, we can’t let him go!”_ Ned howled in his mind and Ben stood frozen for a timeless moment, indecisive. Then he threw caution to the winds and adjusted his grip on the bag of flour before bolting off after his companion.

“ _Are you sure about this, Ned?”_ He asked urgently, dodging between a love-struck couple and narrowly avoiding an elbow to the gut. The dog huffed.

“ _Can you tell the difference between pizza and prime rib after four hundred years? The man’s scent sticks out like a sore thumb among these greasy Italians!”_ Ben stifled a bark of laughter, concentrating on breathing as he continued to race after the Labrador.

“ _Just… how old… is this scent?”_ The towheaded boy panted ten minutes later. He had removed the flour from his shoulder and now hugged it tightly to his chest, both to run easier and to avoid it catching on something and tearing open.

“ _Very fresh! We must be near his hotel; he hasn’t taken a taxi and there are older scents overlapping this one,”_ Ned reported, intent on his goal. Only minutes later, he stopped so abruptly that Ben nearly stepped on his tail as he tried to slow down as well. The black dog’s mouth gaped open in a satisfied grin, the adrenaline and excitement of the chase still coursing through him as he panted heavily. Ben merely leaned over for a second to catch his breath before straightening and wiping his arm across his sweaty forehead. He looked up at the large, sleek building in front of them.

“ _The Savoy Hotel?”_ It was one of the finer hotels in Rome due to its excellent location, impeccable service, and posh interior. Their doctor must be quite wealthy to afford this.

“ _What should we do, Ben? Go inside?”_

“ _How exactly do we explain that?”_ Ben said, furrowing his brow. The throng of people around them continued to stream past unchecked. _“We could get his room number from the concierge, but how would we explain to Doc how we knew where he was staying?”_

“ _So we wait until he comes out,”_ the dog suggested with the calm practicality of an animal hunting prey. _“If we can’t go to him, let him come to us.”_

“ _I’ve got a job, Ned, and I still need to help out Signora Russo!”_

“ _Humans make things so complicated. Look,_ I’ll _stay here and keep an eye out while you go back to the shop. I’ll let you know when I see him.”_

“ _I guess so.”_ Ben said uncertainly. He glanced back down the bustling street and the rather battered-looking flour bag he still clutched to his chest. He nodded abruptly and turned back the way they had come, looking over his shoulder to wink at his immortal companion. _“Alright, O Mighty Hunter, watch over our prey closely until I return!”_

“ _Huh, impudent pup, acting as if I were a lowly cocker spaniel.”_ The dog sniffed indignantly. _“These keen instincts haven’t let us down before; unlike his uselessly dull senses. Honestly, I don’t know why I drag him along.”_

Although Ben ended up having to apologize profusely to the fishmonger he worked for—nearly groveling to the hard man in order to keep their temporary living space—it ended up being worth it once Viviana repaid him with a generous meal that could last him and Ned two days if they were careful. The immortals, though as appreciative of a good meal as anyone else, had never lost the wary caution that prompted them to ration out their food as much as possible. It had been a common sentiment in their century and living off the land had never let them become as indifferent to their next meal as the modern world seemed to be.

* * *

The afternoon quickly passed into evening with no word from Ned. Ben wasn’t too worried yet; they had done something similar to this hundreds of times before and his faithful hound had never let him down before. He completed his work for the day and was lounging at their usual spot beneath the light pole, watching the traffic go by lazily, when their mental connection flared to life.

“ _Oy, Ben! I’ve found our doctor, but we may have a problem…”_ Ned’s mental voice was faintly nervous. _“Apparently we’re not the only people tailing Doc—that seedy thief from the station is following him into the hotel and he doesn’t look like he’s planning to chat about the weather over fine wine.”_

Unconsciously, Ben leaped to his feet, staring in the direction of the _Savoy Hotel_. _“Can you stall them, Ned? I’m on my way.”_

“ _I’ll try, but I think this is a job for a human!”_ The dog replied and there was a pause. Ben automatically reached for his belt, briefly brushing against the hilt of the knife he always kept on his person, and then he was off. He tuned into their mental connection as he ran, approaching Ned’s mind closely in order to hear his stream of thought.

“ _Where did that scumbag go… ah, there. They’re both going into the elevator. Hold that door for just a second there, chap, I’m nearly there! Ow!”_ The thought broke off with a yelp and a burst of pain along his left side. The animalistic instinct to growl and bite was smothered almost immediately as Ned’s intelligent mind—carefully-honed in the ways of human thought—asserted itself. He whimpered pathetically. _“Now, no need to do that, ye blaggard! I’m just a lonely, loveable dog trying to join his master, you see? Come now, can’t you let me pass? Yowch! I suppose that’s a no then… Ben, I can’t get past the concierge without losing a limb. You need to get here quick.”_

“ _I’m almost there, mate.”_ Ben said, his voice carefully controlled despite the anger he felt at Ned being kicked like a wild animal. His breath was coming in uneven pants and he tried to calm himself despite the adrenaline running through him. He weaved through the foot traffic expertly and darted across streets, dodging Vespas, Fiats, and the occasional Ape. Within seconds, it seemed, he spotted the familiar black Labrador sitting outside of the grand doors of the _Savoy Hotel._

“ _Follow me, Ned!_ ” Ben cried, barely slowing as he entered the expensive hotel. Without missing a beat, he ran up to the concierge help desk set discreetly off the side of the main entrance. The smartly uniformed man behind the desk looked down at him and pressed his lips together in disgust.

“Please, sir, I must have the room number of Doctor Adrian Quinton; it’s an emergency!” Ben blurted in Italian, but the man didn’t seem to be listening. His attention was focused on Ned, behind him.

“That miserable mutt is yours, eh? There are no dogs allowed, boy, and no penniless wastrels either for that matter! Go away, you are bothering our guests.”

“Sir! It is a matter of utmost urgency, please!” The towheaded lad insisted. “Doctor Adrian Quinton.”

“I cannot discharge information about our guests. Now leave before I call security!”

“But, sir—!”

“ _Ignore the prissy fool, Ben! I saw what floor they got off on before that bumpkin kicked me outside. Just get on the elevator!”_ Ben hovered for a split second in indecision, glancing between the disdainful expression on the concierge’s face and the gold-plated elevator doors. Seeing the elevator open to deposit a middle-aged English couple made the decision for him.

He darted to the open doors with Ned at his heels, ignoring the scandalized shout behind them as he pressed the button for the third floor. The elevator dinged quietly and the doors slid closed before the red-faced concierge could reach them.

“ _Huh. Snooty blaggard._ ” Ned huffed.

“ _He was.”_ Ben agreed. He turned and dropped to his knees, carefully feeling along Ned’s side until the canine flinched. With a tender look in his clouded blue eyes, Ben scratched behind a velvety ear. _“And when this is over, you are not going anywhere until those bruises are healed, O Brave One.”_ Before Ned could respond, the elevator dinged again and the doors opened. The Labrador was off like a shot.

They could hear the scuffling before they reached the room; thumping and muffled shouts. Ben stopped at the door and carefully reached for the handle, barely daring to hope… It was locked.

“ _Blast and damn!”_ Ben growled, glaring at the tiny red light blinking mockingly at him from the magnetic card strip. _“A locked door was nothing before this bloody technology came along.”_

“ _Relax, Ben. You’re still thinking like a human; let’s wait for him to come out.”_ Ned said calmly, sitting on his haunches a few feet in front of the door. His immortal companion reluctantly subsided, seeing the formation of a plan in the Labrador’s mind. The two waited in the corridor, muscles coiled in anticipation as the noises in the room continued.

When the door burst open only seconds later, Ned was ready. With a low growl that even Ben had to admit sounded quite threatening, Ned released his coiled ferocity in a leap that bowled the man over as he was impacted by nearly forty kilos of solid muscle. The immortal’s life was not easy and they could ill afford—nor did they have the means—to become fat or slow. Ben immediately followed Ned’s attack, darting inside the room and slamming the door shut behind him.

The thief was prostrate on the ground just inside the door, barely daring to breathe as sweat beaded on his oily hairline. Ned perched on his skinny chest, his lips pulled away from his teeth and a growl rumbling in his chest. The room was large and posh, as expected, but it was currently in disarray. Ben’s sharp eyes quickly spotted the dour doctor standing in the corner of the room, his bony wrist attached to the bathroom door handle via handcuffs. Every surface within his reach was bare, the objects strewn about the room as if he had thrown them at his assailant, and a dark bruise was already blooming on his jaw.

His dark eyes smoldered, barely registering surprise at the identities of his would-be rescuers.

“Get me out of these,” he ground out, eyes fixed on the thief who was currently whimpering in Italian for Ben to call the “mad dog” off of him. Clearly Quinton had revenge on his mind.

“Certainly, Doctor,” Ben replied with a faint grin. Just as he moved to step around the man on the floor, the thief clearly threw caution to the wind. His threw his left arm across his face, catching Ned’s muzzle with a solid hit, as he reached into his pocket with his other hand. Ned shook off the blow and latched onto the left arm with his sharp teeth, digging in deeply and causing the man to screech in pain.

“Ned, get off him!” Ben cried as he saw the man pull a switchblade knife from his pocket. Ned obeyed instantly with a short growl, releasing his prize and leaping away, but not before the blade grazed his shoulder. He circled around restlessly, growling and snapping his dripping jaws as the injured man struggled to his feet. Ben was already there, ghosting behind him before he could fully straighten and within seconds Ben’s own knife was pricking the thief’s throat. His second, smaller knife was at the small of the man’s back, pressing hard enough to let him know that one push and his spinal cord would be completely severed. Ben supposed that he was lucky that the man was only a few inches taller than himself.

“Stop.” Ben ordered in Italian, his voice as sharp and hard as the blade of an axe. “Don’t move if you want your neck or spine intact.”

The man cursed, but froze in place.

“Hands up. _Up_ , I said!” The man complied. “Drop the knife. Now. Leave your hands up.” Ben turned his attention to the doctor, switching to English. “Does he understand English?”

“I don’t believe so. He never spoke English to me and I had to speak to him in Italian or else he wouldn’t respond.”

“Good. Look, hotel security’s probably going to be here any minute now. What did he take and where did he put it?”

“A small black notebook, a map of Rome, a small metal box, and three small metal rods.” The professor replied. “I think he just put them in his pockets.”

Ben nodded, removing his smaller knife from the man’s back and returning it to his belt before rooting around in the man’s pockets. “You stink worse than my dog, you know that?” He said conversationally in Italian. “If you wanted to use a shower, I’m sure you could have asked the good doctor politely instead of just barging in here. Ah, what do we have here?” A quick but thorough search of the man’s person revealed the stolen items as well as several folded pieces of paper and two tiny keys on a key ring. They looked old.

Suddenly, a great banging erupted from the door and Ben swiftly turned the blade around in his hand and belted the man across the temple sharply. The force of the blow knocked him senseless and he crumpled to the floor. Quickly pocketing his finds and stowing away his knife, Ben jumped to the doctor’s side and acted as though he was attempting to release him from the handcuffs.

“Follow my lead, okay?” He said from the side of his mouth. Quinton barely had time to nod before the door burst open and admitted a flood of _polizia_ and hotel security.

“Don’t move! Don’t move! Hands up, all of you!” The officers shouted, hands on their gun belts and their nightsticks drawn. Ben threw his hands up, pasting a stricken, relieved expression on his face.

“Thank God!” He cried shrilly in Italian. “Someone help get my uncle out of these!” Once the room was secured, a couple of officers came over to them and started to remove the cuffs.

“Someone get this damn dog out of the way!” An officer shouted near the fallen thief. Ben looked over and whistled sharply.

“Come on, boy, leave the nasty man alone,” he called and Ned obeyed immediately, coming to Ben’s side and sitting on his haunches, every inch the gentle, loyal pet. He did some friendly panting exercises, oblivious to the blood that still stained his muzzle. A female officer with long, loosely-curled brown hair approached Ben and knelt down to pet Ned’s head. Her brown eyes were gentle but shadowed and lined from the strains of her work.

“Now, you’re a friendly dog, aren’t you?” Her voice was rich and husky. Ned immediately thumped his tail harder on the ground, pushing his velvety soft head into her hands. She smiled and looked up at Ben. “What’s his name?”

_“Ooh, I like this one, Ben!”_

Ben ignored his companion. “Ned, ma’am. I’m Ben and this is my Uncle Adrian.”

“Nice to meet you, Ned. And you, too, Ben and Adrian. My name is Officer Ricci.” She stood and gestured for them to sit on the rumpled bed. “Please sit down. I need to ask you about what happened here.” They did so, the doctor rubbing his chafed wrist with a dark scowl.

“ _Signor_ Quinton,” Officer Ricci began, “Please tell me what happened tonight.”

“I returned to my hotel room after a day of sightseeing. I didn’t realize I was being followed until the man pushed me into my room after I had opened it. He punched me,” Quinton touched his jaw gingerly, wincing when he encountered the bruise. “I think I was knocked unconscious for a split second, because when I came to I saw that he had dragged me to the bathroom door and was handcuffing me. Then he started ransacking the room, looking for valuables, I expect. Before he took anything, Ben here showed up and his dog attacked. While the thief was dealing with the dog, Ben snuck up and knocked him unconscious. He came over to help me, and then you came.”

The doctor shrugged, his face as smooth and blank as a stone. Ben was impressed. There was just the right mix of truth and lie to fool Officer Ricci, who seemed to accept the story and turned to Ben. “Now Ben, can you tell me your side of the story? The concierge downstairs said that you came into the hotel nearly ten minutes after your uncle looking very distressed.”

“Well, he’s not really my uncle, you know,” Ben said matter-of-factly. “He was a friend of my parent’s before they died. When he said that he was going to come to Rome for the summer, he told me he was going to stay here at the _Savoy_. So I was on my way to visit him when I saw the Vespa for sale across the street and the man selling it was about to pack up and leave. I wanted my uncle to see it before he left, but…” He shrugged sheepishly. “I just wanted my own bike. It sounds pretty stupid now.”

She smiled reassuringly. “It’s not stupid at all. What happened then?”

“I saw his room number on the registry, so I came up here. I heard the fighting inside so when I ran in, I ordered my dog to attack the intruder.” He shrugged again. “I don’t know; you know the rest.” She looked at him closely for a long moment, but he kept his face straight with ease.

“How long ago did your parents die?”

Ben flinched and averted his eyes, staring at a spot on the floor. “Nearly two years ago,” he muttered.

“And you live here now? Your Italian is very good, but you are not from here.” The woman pressed.

“I go to an English boarding school during the year and I live here with my relatives during the summers. I work at a fisherman’s market during the day,” he added. “That’s what the smell is.”

“How old are you, Ben?”

“Just turned fifteen,” Ben said with a faint grin of pride. In reality, he was far, far older, but he decided to play it a little younger this time around. It may be safer; especially with a suspicious cop fishing for the truth. He decided this had gone on long enough. “Can we go yet?” He asked innocently, cocking his head to the side.

He hissed in surprise more than pain when Quinton grabbed his ear and twisted it sharply once. “Cheeky brat,” he muttered in English, “Let her finish.”

Ben opened his mouth as if to say something and then closed it with a pout. Officer Ricci watched the exchange with a small smile. “Don’t worry, it won’t be much longer. We just need you to come down to the station for a formal statement, and then you can come back.”

“As long as our stories hold up, you mean,” Quinton said dryly. He appeared startled when the officer laughed and Ben and Ned shared a quick, mischievous glance.

However, just as the woman promised, they visited the _polizia_ station only briefly before they took a taxi back to the _Savoy Hotel_. Quinton was completely silent the entire drive. Indeed, he seemed to pretend that the other two in the car didn’t exist and Ben tried not to fidget. He was nearly afraid of what would happen when he had the historian’s full attention. Ned was chortling merrily in his head, glad that, as a mere dog, he didn’t have to explain his actions.

The silence ended when they returned to Quinton’s room. They paused inside the door to look around.

Ben whistled. “Wow, they cleaned this place up really fast, huh?” Quinton ignored him, instead moving to an ornate chair near the window and seating himself primly, crossing his legs. He reached for the unopened bottle of cognac on the nearby end table and poured himself two fingers. Ben stood awkwardly in the center of the room, trying not to appear awkward. The older man sipped from his glass, his dark eyes fixed on Ben; expressionless and yet piercing.

“Would you care to explain?” He asked blandly.

“Hm? Explain what?” Ben asked, going for the confused approach. Quinton merely stared at him. Even Ned guffaws trailed off nervously and Ben gulped. He sat heavily on the soft bed.

“Oh, fine,” he pouted. “I’ll admit I lied. I learned how to speak Italian when I was younger. It’s pretty good, huh?”

Quinton snorted. “As suspicious as that is, that’s not what I was asking about.”

“Oh. D’you mean the knives? That’s because—”

“Yes, yes, you’re father was a military man and all that,” the man waved a hand dismissively as if swatting an annoying fly. “Very quaint, I’m sure.” He leaned forward intently, his eyes trained on Ben’s. “What I would like to know is how you, dear boy, knew where I was staying and how you and your mutt knew I was being attacked. Were you with him?”

Ben stared, aghast. “ _What?_ Look, Doc, you’ve got this all wrong. I was just running errands for my relatives in _Roma Central_ when I saw you being followed by the same guy from the train station. I came to _help_ you—at the risk of my aunt’s wrath, I’ll have you know,” he added. Quinton ignored that.

“I don’t believe for a moment that you are really fifteen.”

“Oh? And why not?”

“Your eyes,” the older man said slowly. “They are far too old for someone your age. Even if you were thirty-five, I would not believe you.”

“Well then,” Ben said softly, running one hand calmly over Ned’s fur, “I’m afraid you’ll just have to deal with it, then.” The two stared at each other, one pair of eyes as blue and timeless as the open seas and the other as dark and unfathomable as obsidian night. Finally, Quinton looked away.

“For now, perhaps.”

* * *

“I have some questions of my own, you know.” Ben pointed out.

“Do you? And what might they be?” The man’s voice was dry, obviously humoring the towheaded teenager, but Ben pressed on determinedly.

“Who was that man, and why did he follow you from the station? I have a feeling he wasn’t trying to snatch your wallet that day.” Quinton brooded, swirling the amber alcohol in his short glass for a moment.

“I have no idea who he is or who he’s working for,” he admitted at length. “It… worries me that my research here seems to have threatened someone enough for them to send someone to follow me to my hotel room and assault me.”

“Do you have any idea who could or would do something like this?” Ben asked carefully. “Any rivals or jealous colleagues?”

The dour man gave a humorless bark of laughter. “I certainly have more enemies than friends, if that’s what you mean. Unfortunately, that doesn’t narrow down the list; my research is well-known in many circles and this trip has been planned for months.”

Ben frowned. “Just what kind of research are you doing? Studying the arches of the Colosseum is rarely cause for armed robbery.”

The older man shot him a glare. “Arches? I would not waste valuable time and money on something so prosaic.” He snorted and leaned forward, his dark eyes gleaming. “I’ve recently obtained a lead on one of the most powerful families in Italy’s history. There are vague accounts from the sixteenth century through the eighteenth century of them being involved in everything from political candidates to the occasional mafia connection. It was rumored that this family had connections to some of the most powerful leaders in Italy during the Great Wars of Italy, such as Lorenzo de' Medici and Ludovico Sforza.”

“And your lead proves… what?”

“It proves that there is a cache of documents proving the association of various world leaders to the Rovalleno family.”

Ben’s breath caught and his eyes widened. “The _Rovalleno_ family?” He breathed, feeling like he had been punched in the gut. He hadn’t heard that name in over two centuries. Quinton frowned, looking surprised that anyone outside of university library had ever heard of the name, much less understood the significance of it.

Ben didn’t blame him.

The Rovalleno family had died out at the middle of the nineteenth century and their quiet fame had died a century before that. There had been a time, Ben knew, that the name “Rovalleno” had been whispered by common folk out of fear. Despite the fact that the family mostly dealt with the high class, everyone knew that they had connections everywhere. The last Ben had seen of the secretive family had been a tortured descendent fleeing his family’s past in 1834.

“I—I don’t… understand.” Ben stammered, shaking his head slightly to dispel the memories. “You mean you have a way of proving the Rovalleno family’s involvement of several Italian wars, not to mention the countless other things they had going on on the side?”

“Precisely.” The doctor said smugly.

“ _Well, no wonder the man’s being followed,”_ Ben commented to Ned. _“Obviously someone wants him to remove his rather impressive nose from the Rovalleno family’s business.”_

“ _And just as obviously, he’s not removing his rather impressive nose from anywhere,”_ Ned added.

“ _He’s lucky it’s the twentieth century. A hundred and fifty years ago, he would have been killed instead of just mugged.”_

“What I would like to know is how you know about the Rovalleno family. It’s not exactly the topic of an after-school special.”

“It’s a hobby of mine,” Ben said airily, with a wave of his hand. “I like history.”

“The military history of sixteenth century Rome? That kind of history?” Quinton said skeptically.

“Sure. Why’s that so surprising? It’s your _job_ , after all.”

The older man scowled. “Don’t you have to be somewhere by now? And give me back my stolen property!” Ben grinned cheekily and removed the items he had taken from the thief. He paused while handing them over, his attention caught by the small metal box that was intricately detailed with geometric patterns.

“Is this… a Burr puzzle?” He asked. Again, Quinton stared at him, surprised. After a moment, his brows lowered in a strange mixture of curiosity and suspicion.

“That’s what I thought at first,” he admitted, “but it’s actually a Japanese puzzle box. I haven’t had luck in solving it, unfortunately.”

“That’s no surprise, considering that some boxes can take up to a hundred and twenty-two moves to open them,” Ben said absently, turning the four-by-two inch box over and over in his agile fingers. “It looks like a Ninomiya, but he was known for working only in wood like most Japanese. A copycat, maybe? Probably American—they’re the only ones in this craft that would make them out of metal; there’s nothing they love better than breaking hundreds of years of tradition. Eccentric, the whole lot of them.”

The room fell silent and Ben finally looked up. Quinton had sat back in the chair and set his half-finished glass on the table. His long, slender fingers were interlaced at his chin, an index finger stroking his lip, and he was staring at the immortal boy expressionlessly, his eyes calculating. A feeling of dread came over Ben.

“ _You’ve got to learn to control that mouth of yours, Ben,”_ Ned warned. _“This isn’t a place like sleepy old Chapelvale, where everyone is content to ignore the outside world and any strange quirks of outsiders. And this man is definitely not the gullible Somers children.”_

“That box has been in my possession for nearly a month,” Quinton finally said. “And I have spent that time researching anything that could tell me when or where it was made and who sent it to me. However, you have just told me more in the last five minutes after just looking at the bloody thing than I had managed to discover.” He raised an eyebrow, his eyes challenging. “Another product of your hobby, I suppose?”

Ben grinned. “You could say that.”

“And just how broad of a spectrum does your hobby entail?”

“I think you would be surprised, Doctor.”

“No doubt,” the man murmured. Ben turned his attention back to the items he had looted from the thief. The map of Rome had notes scrawled in a spiky hand—no doubt Quinton’s—liberally over the well-worn paper. He assumed that the little black notebook had more notes and speculations. The three tiny metal rods most likely went with the puzzle box—further cementing his belief that the maker was American. The scraps of paper were revealed to be two crumpled receipts and a tattered photocopy of a page from a book. The page was written entirely in ornate, cramped Latin. Ben knew only a little Latin and could barely pick out a few words he knew. The small keys on the key ring were far more interesting, though he had no idea what they went to.

The two men—and a dog—contemplated the small pile that seemed to be the key to the whole mystery. Quinton eventually roused himself from his brooding. “Don’t you have to be back at home?” He said sharply. “Your relatives must be worried sick.”

“Actually, they probably aren’t. They don’t really care what I do, where I go, or who I am with as long as I go to work every morning and check back in with them when I’m done.” He shrugged. The older man frowned, but pressed forward.

“Still, you should go back home for the night. There is no reason for you to involve yourself in this; especially if the events tonight are any indication.”

“I’m sure I could be more help than you think, sir,” Ben said. When Quinton started to protest he spoke over him. “Fine, I’ll go, but I have one last question. What did you go see today?”

“What does that have to do with anything?” He sneered.

“We can reasonably assume that that man has been following you ever since you arrived in Italy. Why did he wait until now to attack you? You must have gotten close to something today or maybe yesterday.”

“That had occurred to me,” Quinton admitted. “Much of Italy’s political history is actually centered in Milan, while the religious history is centered here in Rome. I merely came here first in order to follow up on a hunch. I hadn’t really expected to find anything here and I have planned to go to Milan for the bulk of my research in five days. However, it appears that I may have stumbled upon something significant.”

“Where were you?”

“The Vatican Museum.”

“That’s… not good.” The famous museum was enormous and housed so many historical artifacts that it would be nearly impossible to determine which one was significant. The doctor merely nodded grimly.

“ _So,”_ Ben reflected as they walked through the streets that night. _“We know why the doctor is here and what we’re supposed to help him with, but we don’t know the details.”_

“ _And Doc hardly seems forthcoming.”_

“ _Oh, I’m sure we can get him to come around. There’s no pair in Italy that’s as useful as us two, eh, pal?”_

“ _Aye, without a doubt.”_

Much to the Doc’s obvious frustration, Ben and Ned didn’t give up. They somehow managed to appear out of nowhere wherever Quinton was, offering insights and suggestions that—while unappreciated and not sought after—even the esteemed scholar could not deny were helpful. Not that he ever said it. He growled and spat and gnashed his teeth for days before finally throwing his hands up in defeat.

“You aren’t going to go away, are you?” He said, collapsing into the armchair in his hotel room and covering his eyes . Ben just grinned at him. Quinton rolled his eyes. “No, of course not. You may as well come along; if I let you fumble along behind me you’ll likely ruin my whole trip somehow.”

And so it was that the immortal companions began their new adventure with their irascible new friend.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Liked my writing? You might like my Tumblr. rosyourboat.tumblr.com


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